


From Hell

by GloriaMundi



Series: From Hell [2]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Backstory, C17, Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-04
Updated: 2003-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:36:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... in the brig.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down Below

His Majesty's Navy didn't waste lamp-oil on prisoners, and so the brig of the _ Dauntless_ was pitch-black by night. Will steadied himself on the damp wood of the bulkhead and tried to blink the afterimage of the sentry's lantern from his eyes. He could hear the hull creaking, and the constant rush of the sea beyond it. Somewhere up above, footsteps sounded against the topdeck. The brig smelt of tar, brine, urine and rum.

Rum.

"Jack?" Will called.

"Aye."

He turned blindly towards the voice. "Where are you?"

For a moment there was no reply: then Jack said, "Here," and Will could hear the faint clattering of his braids as he moved. He went carefully towards the noise.

"Don't tread on me, boy," said Jack out of the darkness, and his hand closed suddenly about Will's wrist, pulling him down onto the decking.

Will tugged his hand free and leant back against the bulkhead, sighing. He could hear Jack's breathing, slow and steady, and feel the faint warmth of his body in the darkness.

"At least it's dry," Jack offered after a little while. "Not like --"

"They're going to hang us, aren't they?"

"Now, they won't go hanging you, Will. You're a good lad who's been led into bad ways by wicked men. I reckon your Miss Swann might --"

"She is not my Miss Swann!"

Jack sighed. "Aye, but that's for lack of your seizing the opportune moment. Me, now, me they'll probably hang. On account of me bein' a verminous black-hearted pirate, see? Miss Swann's gratitude is a fair and flexible thing, but her Commodore seems to have taken against me. Hmmm. Perhaps Miss Swann's been telling tales."

Will bit back a furious retort. "She told me about your stories," he said scornfully. "Couldn't resist another chance to spin the legend of Captain Jack Sparrow, I suppose?"

A jangling noise: Jack had shrugged, or shaken his head, or scratched a louse. "Told 'er what she wanted to hear, mate." He chuckled. "Always best, with the ladies."

"That's why you get slapped so often, is it?"

"I'm an honest man, Will. Didn't I tell you so? Sometimes the truth will out, no matter how hard you try."

Will smiled in the darkness. "So you'd tell me the truth, would you?"

"Well, now. You're not a woman. You might be a eunuch -- not that I'll demand proof either way, bein' a trustin' sort -- but ... aye, you'll get the truth. If you want it. If you think you'll know it when I tell it to you."

"Try me," said Will. "Tell me what really happened."

"What really happened when?"

"You --" Will sighed. "Tell me how you came to be a pirate. Tell me where you got your tattoo. Anything. It'll pass the time."

"You're asking me for all my secrets?"

"I'm hardly likely to tell them to anyone but the hangman, am I?"

"Ah, but what if they don't hang you?"

"The legend of Captain Jack Sparrow will live on," retorted Will.

There was a scuttling noise in the darkness.

"Rats," said Jack, with disgust.

"But if you don't trust me --"

"Give me your hand," demanded Jack. Will reached out blindly into the darkness. Jack's hand closed around his immediately, firm and warm, drawing him closer until Will's palm was flat on Jack's arm.

"Feel it?"

Will put out his other hand to steady himself. "Elizabeth told me about --"

"Never mind what she told you! Do you feel it?"

"I feel it," said Will slowly. "Like a handprint in mud." He tightened his hold, and Jack's breath hitched. "A hand as big as mine."

"It was before your time." The air in the brig was still: Will's hair lifted against his cheek when Jack spoke.

"I never saw anything except the tattoo and the brand," said Will. He let go of Jack's arm and settled back against the bulkhead. "Why hide something that nobody can see?"

"Wasn't hiding it," said Jack. "I was trying to stop it hurting."

"And this was where the ghost dragged you down to Hell?" Will's voice was quite level.

"I knew she wouldn't believe me," said Jack ruefully. "All true, every word. No one believes an honest tale any more."

"If you were in Hell, how did you come back?"

Jack laughed, and he sounded as carefree as ever. "Remember the sea turtles?"

"Elizabeth told me how you got off that island the first time," said Will smugly. "Rum-runners."

"Damn the wench," said Jack, without spite. "Spoilin' all me best stories. Well, Will, the truth of it is ... they threw me out."

"They threw you out of Hell," said Will slowly.

Jangle. "Aye."

"They dragged you down to Hell, and then they threw you back." Will paused, peering into the darkness. He shook his head. "Why? Weren't you wicked enough for them?"

"Oh, I was wicked enough. She tell you that? A murderer an' a rapist, and that weren't the half of it."

"I don't believe that," said Will.

"Oh, it's all true. Every evil deed of it." Abruptly, Jack's breath was warm against Will's face, and his voice was soft and menacing. "Took what I wanted from those as wouldn't fight back."

Will brushed aside Jack's braids where they'd fallen on his arm. "I'm not afraid of you. I --"

"Tell you everything, did she? There we are, just the two of us, all alone on that pretty little island in the tropical night. Stars like diamonds overhead, and only the rum for company." Jack curled himself onto Will's shoulder, leaning in. His breath still smelt of rum. "The night, the rum, the sound of waves ... The lovely Miss Swann, in her petticoats, all alone with Captain Jack Sparrow, positively the most fearsome pirate anywhere." He chuckled. "And you believe I did nothing?"

"I do believe that," said Will steadily, gaze fixed on the darkness. "You're a good man."

"Oh," said Jack after a moment. The pressure on Will's shoulder lessened as he rocked back on his heels.

"Why did they throw you out of Hell?" said Will. "Too evil? Not evil enough, I'd say."

"That's a base calumny!"

"Then why --"

"Hell was dull," said Jack solemnly. "Dull as a Sunday sermon, after the life I'd led. All I wanted was freedom to do as I pleased ... That's all I ever wanted, Will."

"So you repented and they let you go?" Will shook his head. "I can't believe I'm sitting here arguing theology with a pirate."

"Who better, love? But never say I repented. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!"

"I'll bet that's not even your name," Will muttered.

"I left my old name there in Hell," Jack whispered, leaning close once more. "I used it to rope together all my old vices and crimes, there among the eternal flames. Puffed 'em all up into the shape of a man -- a fine Spanish gentleman, mind, with pure hidalgo blood and a fancy education -- and let the demons have their way with that. And then ... then I slipped free one dark night and made my way up to the world again."

Will bit his lip. "I preferred the sea turtles."

Jack laughed quietly in the darkness, and settled himself beside Will again.

"And anyway," Will said, "you can't've left all your vices and crimes and what-have-yous behind. What about the treasure? The women? The rum?"

"Oh, I came out of Hell pure as you please, but it didn't take long for me to acquire some new … tastes. But it's funny you should mention the women," said Jack thoughtfully. "I'd had enough of women before I went to Hell. My valet used to keep count of them for me, y'know."

Will began to laugh.

"I was young!"

"I'm sorry," said Will, chuckling. "It's just --"

"Not a problem you'll ever have, mate," said Jack from out of the darkness. "You bein' a eunuch, an' all. Must be why you never seized the opportune moment. Afraid of being found out."

"It's none of your business," said Will bitterly.

"Of course it's my business. Wouldn't be here --" Jack struck the bulkhead a resounding blow, and Will started "-- if it weren't for you and your Miss Swann."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"Now, Will, don't let yourself be downed by circumstance." Jack's hand came to rest on Will's shoulder. "Fortune favours the brave."

"How can you be so cheerful?" Will burst out. "You're in the brig of the _Dauntless_, commanded by a man who's vowed to see you hang!"

"I've talked my way out of worse," said Jack, chuckling. "I'll try my natural charm on the Commodore, see if he changes his tune."

Will snorted. "I wouldn't count on it."

"I can be ever so charming, you know."

Jack's hair brushed Will's arm, and Will tensed.

"Jack ..."

"Thought you weren't afraid of me, Will?" Jack's breath was warm on his face.

"I suppose this is another of your new vices," said Will, back flat against the bulkhead. "Or didn't you have time to pester men, what with all those women?"

Jack laughed, and Will screwed up his face against the tickle of his own hair as it fluttered in Jack's breath.

"Never thought of it back then," Jack admitted, chuckling. "But I'd always been a passenger when I sailed the sea."

"I don't understand," said Will, frowning.

"I didn't bring much out of Hell," said Jack. "No money, no weapons, no place to call home. I didn't even know where I was. But it was a port, see, and the sea was callin' to me. And there's always work for new hands on one ship or another."

"Yes, but what --"

"I signed on as the purser of the _Passat_," said Jack, "seeing as I could read and write. Captain Gould took quite a shine to me, as I recall. A month out of port, becalmed in mid-ocean..."

Jack's knee was against Will's, and his hand was on Will's shoulder, and he was breathing the last traces of rum into Will's face. He shrugged, noisily, and settled closer.

Will swallowed.

"Couldn't you have ... I mean, didn't you say no?"

"Oh, Captain Gould was a very charming man himself," murmured Jack fondly. "A gentleman through and through. Had me convinced in no time. It's amazing how quickly one takes to it."

"But I don't want to take to it!" said Will, with heat.

"Ah, but you don't know that," said Jack.

"I hardly think this is the time or the place to find out," said Will. His fists were clenched at his sides.

Jack hadn't moved. "Will," he said mournfully. "Would you truly let me hang without ever kissing anyone -- ever being kissed -- again?'

"I --"

"You know, there is one thing I regret," Jack announced suddenly, levering himself off Will's shoulder.

"What's that?" said Will, raising his eyebrows in the dark.

"I never kissed Elizabeth," said Jack. "Lovely girl. And me with my reputation to think of, too. Captain Jack Sparrow, all alone with a young lady on a desert island! Ironic, really." He brightened. "Though she did teach me that wonderful song."

He began to hum softly.

"One kiss," Will said recklessly. "And I'll pass it on."

"That's the spirit," said Jack, swaying forward.

Footsteps clattered on the companionway, and there was a rattling of keys. Lantern-light dazzled them both as a pair of Marines appeared at the door. Jack squinted, and snarled, and swayed back again.

"Mr Turner!" called one of the Marines.

"Yes?" said Will, screwing up his eyes against the brightness.

"You're to go above. Governor Swann's orders."

"But what about --"

"Come along, sir," said the other Marine. "We don't have all night." He held up the keys and shook them, meaningfully.

"Go on, Will," said Jack. He was lounging back against the bulkhead once more, eyes closed, smiling faintly. "Put in a good word for me, won't you?"

"I won't let them hang you," said Will fiercely, scrambling to his feet. He stood looking down on Jack for a moment, but the pirate did not look up: and the Marine rattled his keys again, impatiently.

Will looked back, once, but the lantern was ahead of him and the brig was dark again.

-end-

 


	2. Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... on the beach

The setting sun was like hot metal against the gaudy sky. "Look," said Elizabeth, her voice a little blurred by rum. "Look, Jack, the sea's turned to gold."

Captain Jack Sparrow said nothing. He was lying on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. He looked very peaceful: very _tidy_, somehow, despite the sooty smears around his eyes and the tatterdemalion clothes he wore. A rounded bottle, half-full, nestled in the sand against his waist.

"It looks like the end of the world," Elizabeth mused, looking back at the sky. "Like Hell." Her own bottle of rum was nearly empty. She pressed the heel of her palm against her right eye.

Jack grunted.

Elizabeth frowned at her fellow castaway, and leaned back on her elbows beside him. "They say you're so evil that Hell spat you back out," she said, raising her voice.

"Mmm," agreed Jack without opening his eyes.

Elizabeth stretched out one bare foot and kicked his leg. "Well?"

"Well what?" A frown appeared, and disappeared.

"_Did_ Hell spit you back out?"

One dark eye prised itself open, watching her.

"Actually, love," drawled Jack, "it's Barbossa they say that about. Not me."

"It's the captain of the _Black Pearl_ they say it about," Elizabeth said sharply.

"When Barbossa stole the _Pearl_, he steered her on a different course," said Jack. Both his eyes were open now, and the frown was back. "Liked his prey helpless, and weren't too bothered by murder."

"But you're --"

"Ever seen me kill anyone?" Jack demanded. "Ever heard -- ever _read_, in those books you set such store by -- about me killin' anyone, 'cept in a fair fight to save myself?"

Elizabeth looked thoughtful for a moment: then she shook her head.

"Barbossa's different," said Jack. "Likes 'em scared." He levered himself up enough to take another swig from the bottle, and looked askance at her, nodding. "Reckon you should be givin' thanks to the heathen gods, love. You'd've had a cruel hard time of it, without the curse."

His explanatory gesture made Elizabeth blush.

"I'll murder 'im, though, soon's I get the chance," said Jack mildly, lying back and closing his eyes again. "I'll send im straight to hell. Been savin' a shot for im."

The sun slipped below the horizon. Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Her petticoat was dry, but the thin cotton hardly kept off the weight of Jack's gaze, never mind night's chill.

"Best build a fire 'fore it's too dark to see," Jack said amiably after a while. He elbowed her. "Come along, Miss Swann! Plenty of firewood above the tideline!"

"You do it," said Elizabeth.

"Ah, you've another way of keepin' warm, then," said Jack happily. He sprang to his feet beside her, a lithe dark silhouette against the clear indigo sky, and set off down the beach as though he had a destination.

"Let's 'ope Barbossa sends back your fancy-boy before too long," he called over his shoulder, with a negligent wave. "You'll be nice and snug together."

"Wait! Come back!" Elizabeth yelled, scrambling to her feet. She clutched her stomach and reeled. "Please!"

The waves seemed to glow green and violet as the last of the sunset faded in the west. Elizabeth focussed on the pale line of surf and took slow, deep breaths. She could hear the sand crunching beneath Jack's bare feet as he sauntered towards her.

"Somethin' you wanted, Miss Swann?"

"I'll help you build the fire," said Elizabeth, swallowing hard.

By the time Jack had coaxed a flame from pistol-flint to dry weed, and then to dry wood, Elizabeth was huddled next to their bonfire, picking splinters out of her sore feet.

"I wish there was some water on this island," she said mournfully.

"Have some more rum, darlin'," said Jack Sparrow, collapsing to the sand beside her and offering her a bottle of -- _another_ bottle of rum, almost full.

"Rum makes my head hurt," Elizabeth said sulkily, fanning woodsmoke away from her.

"Common problem," said Jack, nodding wisely. "'S not the rum, it's the lack of it. Have a little more, an' I guarantee you'll forget about it."

Elizabeth didn't trust him, but the heat from the bonfire was making her thirsty, and there wasn't any water. She tipped the bottle to her lips and drank. And maybe she'd been wrong, after all, because her head wasn't hurting so much, and her stomach settled again.

"You were telling me about Hell, Captain Sparrow," she said, waving the rum at Jack for emphasis. "No, sir, you _cannot_ have this bottle! It's mine!"

"Pirate," said Jack, and his teeth flashed. He reached behind him and produced another bottle out of the night, toasting her as he took his first mouthful. "What's that you said?"

"Hell," said Elizabeth dramatically, leaving an arc of rum on the white sand. "Hell spat you out, they said."

"Nah, love," said Jack, looking askance at her. "That was Barbossa."

"That was the captain of the _Black Pearl_," Elizabeth insisted. "I told you that. Barbossa just inherited it."

"Stole it," Jack muttered, glaring into the flames.

"Stole it," Elizabeth agreed. "They used to say it before you -- before Barbossa marooned you. It's in all the books! About Hell spitting you out. About how you could escape anything -- the East India Company, the French Navy, the British -- you escaped this island, for heaven's sake! You're Captain Jack Sparrow! You escaped from Hell itself!"

"Tha's got a nice ring to it, love," said Jack.

"So tell me --"

"What?" Jack scowled at her as though she'd jabbed him with a pin. "Hell? I didn't --"

He rubbed the tattoo on his forearm, and stared through the flames at the black waves lapping the shore.

"I don't think you're really a pirate at all," said Elizabeth. Her voice was higher and clearer than before. "I think you're a nobleman, betrayed by his enemies, forced to --"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Jack said, exasperated. "I _am_ a pirate. Look." He pushed up his sleeve and thrust his forearm at her. The firelight gilded the tight, pale skin of the brand. "Pirate, savvy?"

"I know you're a pirate _now_," said Elizabeth. Jack narrowed his eyes at her. "But you don't always sound like one."

Jack sighed. "You've been reading too many of those romances, Miss Swann."

"See?" Elizabeth demanded. "When you forget, you speak as well as ... as ..."

"As your fancy-boy?" suggested Jack, with an exaggerated leer. "Nicely-spoken, your Will. Spend a lot o' time with you, did he?"

"Stop changing the subject," Elizabeth snapped. "You speak like an educated man, and you have ... good manners. Usually."

Jack edged closer to her, beads clattering, and leered at her again. "Too many novels, Miss Swann," he said softly. "They make the feminine brain prone to flights of fancy."

"I just --"

"You just want to believe there's more to me than meets the eye," said Jack. "What if there is? What if I was someone else once? I'm Captain Jack Sparrow now, and none knows my story save me." He bowed, from the waist, and smiled his showman's smile at her.

"I find you -- intriguing," Elizabeth managed, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. "I want to hear your story," she said, more clearly.

Jack swayed closer, so that his breath fell on Elizabeth's neck: he smiled when she flinched. "But it's a terrible tale, Miss Swann!" His voice echoed over the dark, empty beach as though it were a theatre. "A tale of lust, lechery and betrayal! Murder! Revenge from beyond the grave!"

Jack's shadow leapt like a demon on the sand as he gesticulated. Elizabeth merely folded her hands in her lap and smiled at him with polite interest.

Jack sighed. "It's a long story," he said, "and you won't believe a word of it."

"Tell me," said Elizabeth. "Please?"

"Oh, I'll tell you," said Jack. He settled himself on the sand, a little more distance between them than before. "I'll tell you the truth. My father died, and I had his money and lands. This was Seville -- that's in Old Spain, savvy? He'd sent me off on the Tour to finish my education, just myself and my valet --"

"_You_ had a valet?" said Elizabeth, eyebrows raised.

"I had a valet, Miss Swann," said Jack evenly.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth murmured.

"We travelled all over Europe, to Italy and Greece and the Papal States," said Jack. "Like many another fine young gentleman, I lived a life of vice. Dining late, drinking early. Duelling. Gambling. Playing at cards, playing at love. Ah, love." He bestowed a glinting smile on Elizabeth, and the mockery in it made her flinch. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jack carried on.

"Love," he said again, drawing out the word. "Or perhaps it was only lust." His gaze flickered to Elizabeth, and his smile dropped away. "At any rate, it was all a game. When I took it into my head to play at something new, none could prevent me, for I had youth and wealth and rank. My valet did his best to make my affairs end well. He paid off my lovers, paid off my debts, stood second when I duelled. I'd had the best fencing masters, and plenty of matters of honour to practice my skills, and I kept my skin as whole as my heart."

He took another long draught of rum.

"You're making it up," Elizabeth accused.

"Wasn't it you who told me I'd been ... what was it ... 'a nobleman betrayed'?"

Elizabeth flinched at his high-pitched mimicry, and Jack chuckled.

"Well," he said. "Couldn't last, not the way I carried on. One night in Burgos I was ... visiting a lady, and --"

"She slapped you?" enquired Elizabeth, rallying.

Jack stared at her, and his eyes were totally black. "She cried rape," he said flatly. "Her father came out into the street with a sword, and I killed him."

"Oh," whispered Elizabeth, eyes wide.

"Have some more rum, love," said Jack, with an empty smile. "You've no more to fear than you feared before you knew there was anything at all to fear from me."

Elizabeth swallowed more rum, and stared at Jack.

"'S where it all ended," said Jack thoughtfully. "The old man vowed he'd get me, and he did. His ghost did."

"I don't --"

"Here," said Jack, and his hand was suddenly clamped around Elizabeth's wrist, hard enough to bruise, and he pulled her closer until she was sprawled bonelessly across his lap.

"Here," said Jack again, and his grip was gentler. He took her hand and drew it to the pirate brand and the tattoo below it. "Can you feel it?"

Elizabeth squinted up at him. "You don't look like --"

"Feel it?" Jack repeated, pressing her fingers against his arm.

"The brand? I --"

"Under that," said Jack.

"It's ... a handprint," said Elizabeth. She sat up, and Jack steadied her. Her hand still rested on his arm, almost covering the tattooed bird in its sunburst. "There's the mark of a hand, but I can't see --"

"He took me by the arm, and dragged me down to Hell. That's --" Jack nodded towards her hand "-- where he held me."

Elizabeth stared at Jack, and he stared back. Reflected flames flickered in his eyes.

"How ..." Elizabeth began, swallowing. Jack handed her the rum bottle and waited while she drank. "How did you escape?"

"You're forgetting, love." Jack spread his hands, leaning forward, and his smile was amiable again. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Elizabeth sat back and lifted the bottle to her mouth again. "I _was_ forgetting," she agreed at last, chuckling. "You almost had me believing you."

Jack looked at her askance, but he said nothing except, "Finished?"

"Sorry," said Elizabeth, wiping the mouth of the bottle before she handed it back to him.

Jack drained the last of the rum, and hurled the empty bottle into the dark beyond the fire.

"Your turn, Miss Swann," he said.

"My turn?"

"Entertain me," said Jack Sparrow, bringing his hands together in a courteous gesture. "Tell me a tale. Sing me a song."

"I don't --" said Elizabeth, and broke off. She hummed a few notes.

Jack sat up straighter. "What's that tune?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I can't remember. But I know a song about pirates ..."

-end-

 


	3. Judgement Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in Port Royal

It had taken longer than he'd expected, but Norrington did not let his impatience show. "Leave the irons on him," he directed the Marines.

"Sir, the prisoner --"

The prisoner looked at Norrington steadily. He had been allowed to wash, and he had made some attempt to groom himself: Norrington had refused to interview anyone who had come straight from the brig of the _Dauntless_. Somehow he had renewed the blacking around his eyes. His clothes were still ragged and stinking, but he had brushed the worst of the filth from them.

"I feel certain that I can defend myself against an unarmed pirate, especially if his hands are chained," Norrington told the Marine. "I'll call for help if I need it. There will, I trust, be a guard on duty?"

"Sir!"

"Meanwhile, I wish to interview the prisoner in private. Is that understood?" He looked from one Marine to the other.

"Sir!"

"Yes, sir!"

"You may go. Leave the key with me," he added as an afterthought, holding out his hand. The Marine could not disobey a direct order; he dropped the key into Norrington's hand, and Norrington turned and placed it on the desk behind him. The pirate's dark eyes followed every movement.

Only when the door had closed behind the two did Norrington return his gaze to his prisoner.

"I could give you my word," said Jack Sparrow, smiling. "Not to try to escape." He rattled the irons suggestively.

"We both know how much a pirate's word is worth," said Norrington. "Besides, I've seen you escape too many times."

"From a heavily-guarded room in the heart of the Fort, with the Navy's finest between meself and freedom, and no ship to take me away?" Sparrow laughed. "I think you're starting to believe the stories about me."

"From what I've heard recently," said Norrington calmly, leaning back against the edge of the desk, "you're starting to believe them yourself. 'A man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out,' wasn't it? You've drunk too much rum to recall which are truth and which invention."

Jack Sparrow shrugged and smiled. Norrington smiled back.

"Miss Swann believed your stories," he said. "Of course, the whole dreadful business with Barbossa has affected her more deeply than any of us can know. I intend to see to it that she has a quiet, peaceful life once we're married."

"I'm sure you'll be very happy together," said Sparrow. "There's no use, I take it, in begging for a stay of execution? I'd hate to miss the wedding."

"The Governor was inclined towards clemency," said Norrington dryly, "but he seems to have spent the impulse on pardoning Mr Turner."

"Will's to go free?" Sparrow tilted his head back, and his gold teeth glinted in the lamplight. "That's excellent news."

"Friendship with you has proved not to be a capital offence after all," said Norrington. "You'll hang alone."

"Every man dies alone, Commodore."

"And yet," said the Commodore thoughtfully, raising his eyes again, "you don't seem afraid."

Jack Sparrow shrugged. Norrington set his teeth against the discordant jangle of the shackles.

"I know I'll not be bound for Hell," said Jack Sparrow softly. "Not this time."

"You persist --" Norrington took a deep breath. "Never mind."

"The crimes that damned me were worse by far than those you're going to hang me for." Sparrow's habitual half-smile was gone.

"Then I'm surprised you weren't hanged years ago."

"Morally worse, not legally worse," Sparrow said. "And I was a gentleman, then. Gentlemen aren't hanged."

"I'm not interested in your morals, Sparrow," said Norrington, fingers drumming on the desk, "or in your claims to good breeding." There was a definite stress on the word 'claims'.

"But something interests you, Commodore, or you'd not have called me here for a ... private ... interview." Sparrow gestured abortively. His gaze flickered down to the rattling chain.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Norrington. He picked up the key and advanced on Jack Sparrow. "Give me your hands."

"Just like when we first met, Commodore," said Sparrow, offering his shackled wrists and looking up at Norrington from half-lidded eyes. "Are you sure you should be letting me loose? They seemed to think I was a terrible threat."

Norrington snorted. He took hold of the chain that joined Jack Sparrow's wrists, and Jack swayed towards him, face upturned, smiling sunnily.

The Commodore flinched. "Are you trying to -- to seduce me?" he demanded.

"I might be," said Sparrow, grinning. "Is it working?"

"Certainly not," snapped Norrington. He unlocked the fetters from Sparrow's wrists, squinting at the stiff lock, and turned to lay them atop a pile of papers on the desk. "You, Mr Sparrow, are an affront to common decency. And a damned poor excuse for a pirate," he added, seating himself behind the desk and opening a drawer, "if I can turn my back on you even for a moment."

"Maybe I'm still hoping for an invitation to your wedding?" said Jack Sparrow, with a courtly half-bow from the waist. He straightened, flexing his hands. "I'm sure Elizabeth --"

"Miss Swann," corrected Norrington, not looking up. "_Will_ you sit down?" he added, as Sparrow turned towards the bookshelf.

Jack Sparrow halted in mid-stride, swaying, eyebrows raised. He swung himself around and all but fell into the chair that Norrington indicated, stretching out his legs under the desk.

"I'm sure that Miss Swann would want me there. I did save her life, after all." He made a show of counting, slowly, on his fingers. "Twice. At least twice."

"She speaks highly of you," said Norrington. He had extracted a pistol from the desk drawer, and was checking the chamber for shot. "And of your conduct while marooned on that island."

"Really?" said Jack, eyeing the pistol.

"She claims that you behaved as a gentleman would," Norrington went on. "That makes two people who think you're a gentleman. Yourself included, of course," he added, laying the pistol down and looking back at Sparrow.

"I _was_ a gentleman," Jack Sparrow corrected politely, leaning forward. "Once. At least, I was raised as one. All that breeding and education and what-have-you."

"Of course," said Norrington, with a cynical smile. "What went wrong?"

"The usual," said Sparrow cheerfully. "Too much money, not enough scruples. A taste for low company. Or perhaps the moral philosophy simply didn't take."

"What was your name?" Norrington snapped. "Where did you study?"

Sparrow shrugged. "I ... don't remember."

"How convenient," said Norrington coldly. "Then there is nothing to substantiate your tale, Mr Sparrow."

"I could invent a name," offered Sparrow. "If it would make you happy."

Norrington began to speak: then he scowled, and closed his mouth. After a moment he said, "For a man who claims to have lost everything, you don't seem especially concerned."

"It's one of the things I left behind," said Jack Sparrow. "My name. Some things aren't worth keeping. All I brought with me out of Hell was a good pair of boots and Cortez' compass."

"Cortez was in Hell?" said Norrington sharply.

"Where else?" said Jack Sparrow, spreading his hands. "Now, you can believe me, or you can disbelieve me. I can't offer you any proof you'll credit. Why did you want to talk to me?"

"I've heard your story from Will and Elizabeth," said Norrington. "Murder and rape and the like. It's hard to square with the list of charges I've drawn up against you. I wanted to hear your side of the story."

"Story-telling's dry work," said Jack Sparrow.

Norrington took a flask from inside his coat and held it out. "This will have to do for now. Navy rum, Mr Sparrow. Perhaps it will compare favourably with the brew you usually drink."

"Thank you kindly. And that's _Captain_ Sparrow," said Sparrow amiably, tilting his head back and inverting the flask.

Norrington snorted. "It's not as though that's your real name."

"I have many names, Commodore. Comes in handy in my line of work. But _you_ can call me Jack."

"I'm honoured," said Norrington. "Which came first? Your tattoo, or the name?"

"This tattoo," said Sparrow, leaning forward earnestly and pushing back his sleeve, "was drawn by a toothless, imbecilic mountebank. It's _supposed_ to be a phoenix, savvy? But the idiot was out of his head on opium. Instead of flames, he put the sun and the sea; instead of a phoenix, a sparrow." He shrugged. "Could be worse. But it's a mistake I'll be looking at for the rest of me life. Brief though that might be."

He set down the flask, and Norrington could hear that it was empty. For a moment neither man spoke.

"Why a phoenix?" said Norrington eventually.

"I thought the needle might let out the fire, where it burned," said Sparrow slowly, looking down at the tattoo. "And I'd come out of Hell, see? Out of the flames. With a couple of scars that needed covering." He looked up, brightening. "You can feel it, Commodore. The hand of the ... the hand that dragged me down to Hell."

Norrington stayed where he was. A muscle at the corner of his eye was twitching. "No, thank you. I'll take your word for it."

Jack beamed at him. "That's nice."

"So Captain Jack Sparrow, scourge of the Spanish Main, has repented. The Royal Navy can withdraw to less pestilent climes, the insurers at Lloyd's need bankrupt themselves no longer, and the ladies of Port Royal may sleep safely in their beds."

"Reformed, not penitent," Sparrow corrected him. "Though the ladies may sleep safe, for all that."

"I'm prepared to believe that you were a gentleman once," said Norrington. "And that you've suffered a reverse of fortune. Did you never repent of your crimes and wish to be a gentleman again?"

Jack Sparrow stared at him. "I'd had enough of being a gentleman before Hell ever took me," he said. "I'd rather be free." There was no laughter at all in his voice.

"You're going to the gallows at dawn! What sort of freedom is that?"

"More freedom than you'll ever have," said Sparrow. "Careful, Commodore. I might begin to think you cared."

"Perhaps I --"

"Would there be any more of that rum?" Sparrow interrupted.

"So you intend to stagger to the noose like a common drunkard?" Norrington bent to retrieve a half-full bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk.

"Think of it as comfort for the condemned," said Jack Sparrow lightly. He was playing with the pistol that Norrington had left lying on the desk, spinning it noisily so that the barrel pointed at himself, then at Norrington, then at himself again. He glanced up at the Commodore with a smile that was almost wistful.

Norrington raised his eyebrows, and did not move. "I don't know what you're planning, Sparrow, but there's an entire Fort between you and freedom. Otherwise --"

"Freedom's all up here, mate," said Jack Sparrow, finger tapping lightly against his faded red bandana. The pistol spun slowly to a halt, barrel pointing at Jack again, and Jack waved a long-fingered hand, casual and elegant, as though he'd just lost at dice.

"Here's your comfort, _pirate_," said Norrington. He put the rum bottle down on the desk next to the pistol.

"Not joining me, Commodore?" Sparrow invited, swigging from the bottle like any sailor in a dockside tavern.

"I'm on duty," said Norrington. He walked slowly around the end of the desk, halting beside Jack. "Stand up."

"I --"

"Stand up!"

Jack Sparrow stood, slowly, and his gaze never left Norrington. "Does your duty extend to comforting prisoners?" he said softly.

"Do you need comforting?"

"Depends," said Jack. "If I'm to be hanged tomorrow, I'd best make the most of the time I have left."

Norrington smiled tightly. "It's not my decision," he said. "I'm sorry."

"That's the easy answer, mate," said Jack.

"In all conscience --"

Jack Sparrow kissed Norrington, hand on his neck and tongue insinuating itself into his mouth. After a minute or so, Norrington's hands came up to push Jack away. The Commodore's fairer skin was flushed.

"May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb," Jack said, head tilted back so he could look Norrington in the eye. He was grinning again.

"Is this why you treated Elizabeth with such respect, pirate?" Norrington said breathlessly. "Because you don't, after all, care for women any more?"

"I treated her as a good man would," replied Jack.

Norrington inclined his head. "And how would a good man treat you?"

Jack ran his tongue over his lower lip, and there was pure wickedness in his eyes. "I reckon you know that," he said.

"I can't let you go."

"What you mean is, you can't see your way to it," said Jack Sparrow. He raised the bottle to his lips and drank again, eyes never leaving Norrington's. "You're not free to decide."

"That's right," said Norrington slowly.

"If you were free, would I go free?"

James Norrington dropped his gaze, and smiled to himself. "Yes," he admitted.

"You're nearly there, mate," said Sparrow jovially. He stepped closer, but Norrington did not look up.

The lamplight flickered, and outside the guard called the hour.

"I can see I've given you a lot to think about," said Jack Sparrow, almost gently. "Best leave it there for now, wouldn't you say?"

Norrington looked up at last. Jack was standing very close to him, that half-smile back in place. He reeked of rum and unwashed clothes. Norrington nodded, once, and went to the door.

After the Marines had led Jack Sparrow away again, the Commodore sat at his desk for a long time. He stared at the pistol, the irons, and the empty bottle, and tried to make an epitaph for Jack Sparrow.

Something about freedom.

-end


End file.
